


what's past is prologue

by avocadodreamin



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-04-30 00:25:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5143535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avocadodreamin/pseuds/avocadodreamin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the past may have made Matt Murdock the man he is today, but that doesn't mean Foggy has to be happy about it. </p>
<p>(Or, five times Foggy hated Matt's childhood.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. swish-click

When Foggy Nelson was five years old, he had the single worst kindergarten teacher in the country for all of a day. On his very first day of school, the day he arrived with a teddy bear backpack and eyes red from crying after saying goodbye to his mom, Foggy learned his first lesson in the potential cruelty of the world. Mrs. Underhill was a bully. She took one look at Foggy’s wet eyes and snotty nose, told him to be a big man, and put him in the back of the class until he was ready to stop crying and join his classmates.  
“Big boys don’t cry,” she’d sing-songed in his direction. He never left the back corner. When his dad came to pick him up, Foggy rushed into his arms, sobbing into his neck. Twenty minutes later, when Foggy’s raw cries had faded to hiccups, his dad said something to him he’d never, ever forget.

“Big boys who cry are the strongest boys of all, because they have the biggest, most caring hearts,” he’d said, his hand resting over Foggy’s little ribs. “You’re allowed to have your feelings, buddy. Nobody can ever take them away from you. If somebody tries to, remember that one time somebody hurt their heart, and instead of crying they built up a wall to protect themselves.”

 

He’d started a new school one week later. Then, eighteen years after that, he met someone with more walls around his heart than anyone else Foggy had ever met.

 

In those first few months as roommates, Matt Murdock was a mystery to Foggy. He devoted more time to unravelling that mystery than he did to his studies. It wasn’t just the blind thing, although that was part of it; Foggy spent hours online researching the best ways to help Matt without being annoying, rearranging their room to make it safer for Matt, rearranging his life to fit Matt in. He liked the guy. Unlike the other people who had built full-on castles around their sensitive hearts, Matt loved when Foggy let his feelings show. He laughed when Foggy did, sympathised when Foggy was mad, and sat by Foggy when he cried. He didn’t know what to do with the crying, exactly, but he stayed, and for that Foggy was grateful. He was also curious. Matt had told him bits and pieces about his childhood - he grew up in an orphanage run by nuns, his dad was a boxer, he was Catholic - but the pieces never fit together into a full picture. The way Matt relayed the information, they seemed like a series of dispassionate facts, like a journalist reporting on the weather. That didn’t mean that Matt had no feelings, though. It took a while for Foggy to notice that Matt was different around him than he was with others. He was always charming, but Matt smiled more with Foggy. He was more relaxed, and let his occasionally twisted sense of humour show more often. The walls were still there, tall and sturdy, but Foggy knew he was wearing them down. Making cracks. It wasn’t until the first time they got drunk - no, not drunk, full-on plastered - that Foggy first learned what had laid the foundation for one of Matt’s walls.

 

It made him throw up on the sidewalk.

 

“No- Foggy…” Matt said, then dropped his head back, laughing at the sky.

“What do you mean no?” Foggy asked incredulously. “You never once suspected that the nuns were secretly lounge singers? I mean, you have to have seen Sister Act. It’s like, the second best thing Jesus ever did-”

“Foggy!” Matt protested, but he was practically doubled over with laughter. “There’s no way any of them- you have no idea...”

Foggy snorts. “What, you don’t think any of them had on sequinned mini-dresses under their -whatsit - robe things…”

“No!” Matt laughed helplessly. He stopped, reaching out for Foggy, who took his friend’s hand and placed it on his elbow. “Trust me, that’s so not something you want to imagine. Sister Beatrice…” but he broke down in giggles again, leaning on Foggy for support.

“I mean, she could be wearing a bikini and a tutu and it’d be all the same to you, right?” Foggy chuckled, cinching his hand around Matt’s waist to support him.

“Yeah, but...but no. I could always hear their robes and their rosaries...swishing and clicking, when they came in to check on me at night, or...or when they found out I snuck out again…” Matt’s laughter stopped in stages, and the chuckle he let out when he finished talking was dark. Foggy tightened his hand.

“Do you think tutus sound different to robes?” he asked, then said, “Bench.” He dropped Matt down on to the aforementioned bench, not letting go as he sat next to him.

“They sound different. Ruffly, not swish-and-clicky,” Matt said. His words were slurring. He dropped his head back to rest on the bench, the smile gone from his face.

“I bet tutu-wearing nuns would be more fun than the ones you grew up with,” Foggy commented. Matt pulled away from his grip. Foggy let him.

“Most of ‘em were good. Nice. Kinda...busy and distant...but they tried, you know.” Matt’s words tumbled out of his mouth, chasing each other, and Foggy knew he wouldn’t be hearing this if Matt were sober. Foggy himself was only just sober enough to wonder if he was taking advantage.

“Most of them?” he asked. Matt paused. Frowned. “You don’t have to-”

“Sister Beatrice,” Matt said, interrupting Foggy. Foggy’s mouth snapped shut. “I swear she had like...super-hearing.” There was a weird, self-deprecating chuckle after that, which Foggy filed away for later. “It was always her. Almost always, anyway. She was just trying to protect us...looking out for us, she said...protecting me. She thought if there were consequences, I wouldn’t keep running away.”

“Consequences,” Foggy muttered. Matt rolled his head away, sightless eyes fixed on something Foggy couldn’t see.

“I don’t think she meant anything by it. That was just the way they did things in her day, you know? And I think it was more the embarrassment...it didn’t hurt, really, when she hit me. She wasn’t that strong. But I held on to my belt when I heard the swish-click anyway,” Matt said into the night air.

“Jesus, Matt…”

“It’s no big deal,” Matt said with a shrug, turning back towards Foggy. His eyes were dry, his face neutral. He wasn’t lying, or at least, he didn’t know he was.

That’s when Foggy vomited over the side of the bench on to the sidewalk.

“Whoa, buddy, you okay? Take it easy,” Matt said. His voice had an edge now, had lost that fog of memory. He rubbed Foggy’s back. “I didn’t know you’d had that much.”

“Guess it was more than I could handle,” Foggy mumbled. There were tears in his eyes. He let them fall as Matt helped him up and they stumbled home together. The whole way back, Foggy clung to Matt a little tighter, but if Matt noticed he didn’t say anything. Foggy could feel Matt trying to reign in his own drunkenness to help Foggy, and it made the guilt-pain-sorrow churning in his gut that much worse. Foggy knew he’d been talking almost the whole way, responding to Matt’s questions, but he couldn’t hear any of the words. He just knew he couldn’t say anything to push Matt, because it would only push Matt away.

“I’m sorry, Matt,” he says heavily when they finally get back to the dorm and Matt somehow managed to deposit Foggy on his bed. “Sorry.”

“Hey, nothing you wouldn’t do for me, right?” Matt said with a smile. He gave Foggy’s shoulder a clumsy pat and flopped on to his own bed.

“Anything for you, bud,” Foggy replied. After all, he couldn’t let him know that the apology was for Matt’s shitty childhood. He wiped the tears from his eyes and nodded fiercely. “Anything.”

(Matt cries in front of Foggy for the first time just before Thanksgiving that year. Foggy pretends he hasn’t been building up to invite Matt to Nelson Thanksgiving for a month. He finds the perfect moment to casually drop it into conversation. Matt says no three times before he says yes. He turns away to wipe his eyes.

“You’re allowed to cry,” Foggy says. Matt nods. When he turns around, he’s smiling, his eyes dry.

“Thanks,” Matt says.

“Anything for you, buddy,” Foggy replies.)


	2. benediction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy breaks his leg. Somehow, the resulting trip to the hospital is harder on Matt than Foggy.

Foggy Nelson got a reputation in high school for being clumsy, which he thought was entirely unfair. In fact, he’d always thought he was pretty graceful for his size. He woudn’t be winning any ballet competitions or anything, but he could catch a ball well, making him a pretty valuable member of his high school softball team. (He refused to play baseball, because Jimmy Hall and his friends played baseball, and Jimmy Hall and his friends were assholes. Foggy didn’t need that kind of negativity in his life.) As far as Foggy could tell, the only reason anybody would even have for thinking he was clumsy was because he broke his leg in the tenth grade. It wasn’t even his fault, really. He’d been walking across the stage after a debate when one of the guys from his team got in a fight with one of the guys from the other team. Foggy had tried to break it up. He ended up falling through a tarp to the orchestra pit, leg bent at an awkward angle and tears leaking out of his eyes, for his troubles.

 

The bitch of it was breaking the same goddamn leg in the same goddamn place eight years later.

 

Matt wasn’t there when Foggy went straight over the railing of a set of stairs down to the concrete below. It was, again, not his fault, not really, but then it wasn’t the other guy’s fault this time either. The other guy’s bike hit a rock, which sent him crashing down the stairs into Foggy, who was knocked over the railing. For a few seconds, Foggy didn’t even notice the pain in his leg. The bike guy was woozy, bleeding badly from the head, and he took two steps before puking all over the sidewalk.

“Hey, man, are you okay?” Foggy asked, moving towards him. He got all of about four inches before realizing he couldn’t move his leg. He looked down, saw the odd bend and the bruising in his leg, and groaned. “Fuck, not again…”

“Oh my God, Foggy, are you okay?” someone asked him. It was a girl with wavy black hair, her name unreachable in Foggy’s pain-filled mind. He leaned back against the stairs, sweating.

“I’m gonna go with no, cuz my leg is definitely not supposed to bend that way, but hey, it’s nothing I haven’t been through before,” Foggy said. He took a deep breath. “It doesn’t hurt any less the second time, though.”

“Hold still, don’t move it. Allie’s calling an ambulance, okay? Just keep still. Do you want me to call anyone?” the girl asked. Foggy nodded.

“Yeah. Matt. Do you know Matt?” he asked, reaching for his phone. It took him three tries before he got it unlocked.

“Of course I know Matt, you guys are always together,” the girl said, rolling her eyes. Foggy tried to remember her name, he really did, but all he was coming up with was a C. Clara? Catherine? Whatever her name was, she was already calling Matt, for which Foggy was grateful. He looked around, trying to see the bike guy.

“Is the bike guy okay?” he called over his shoulder to the people crowded there. Some guy peeled away to look at Foggy.

“He’s stopped puking,” he reported. Foggy sighed, frustrated.

“Get him to sit still. Somebody should talk to him...and stop the bleeding in his head, okay?” he called over his shoulder. Trying to help the other guy distracted him from the pain, if nothing else.

“Some chick’s doing that,” the other guy reported vaguely. Foggy opened his mouth to reply, but then Matt was suddenly right there, in his eyeline and looking totally freaked out.

“Foggy, Foggy, are you okay?” Matt was asking, one hand on Foggy’s shoulder. He was down on one knee, and his hand on Foggy's shoulder was warm and solid. “Casey said you were hurt. What happened?”

“Broke my leg,” Foggy groaned. Casey, that was her name. “Same place as in tenth grade. Casey’s friend called an ambulance. The guy from the bike-”

“Hang on,” Matt said, cocking his head to the side. Foggy frowned, confused. “Those guys over there are talking about him. Apparently the girl helping him is a nursing student. He’s being taken care of, Foggy, don’t worry,” Matt said, squeezing Foggy’s shoulder. Matt’s hand was shaking slightly.

“Okay...good...that’s good…” Foggy mumbled. He shifted a little and blinding hot pain shot up from his leg right through him. “Ow.”

“Don’t move,” Matt said sharply, his hand even tighter on Foggy’s shoulder. Matt was freaking out. Foggy would have been amused if his leg didn’t hurt so damn much.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Foggy said. “I don’t need a repeat of that particular ‘stabbed in the leg by a red hot poker’ feeling, thanks. I’ll be perfectly comfortable here. In fact, when the paramedics get here, you can just tell them to leave me right here, no moving, forever.”

“That doesn’t seem entirely practical,” Matt said with a shaky laugh. “I think your teachers might notice you’re not there, which is going to make it hard to get that law degree.”

“They can come and teach me here. Plenty of space. Who doesn’t love learning outside? The fresh air, the sunshine-” he said, and he was pretty sure that fate hated him, because at that moment it started to rain. “Oh, come on!”

“It’s okay, Foggy, the ambulance is coming. Hang on,” Matt said. Foggy nodded, dropping his head back and groaning. Matt let go of his shoulder only when the paramedics arrived, and he hovered right at Foggy’s side all the way to Foggy’s hospital bed.

 

Thanks to the whole broken leg thing, Foggy didn’t have much of a chance to talk to Matt until he made it to his own bed. It was when he was lying comfortably in the cool sheets, morphine flooding his system and making his head feel like it was going to detach from his shoulders and drift away, that he finally noticed how deeply unhappy Matt looked. The tension running through Matt’s body was intense. Every little sound seemed to make Matt jump. Foggy blinked at Matt a few times, trying to get his mind to focus.

“Hey. Hey, Matt,” he said, and Matt jumped again.

“Right here, Foggy,” Matt replied, quirking his lips in an attempt at a smile.

“You okay, man?” Foggy asked. Matt breathed in and out slowly, then nodded.

“Yeah, of course. I’m not the one with a fractured tibia,” he pointed out.

“That’s true. I broke it right in half, Matt,” Foggy said cheerfully. “It really hurt.”

“Not so much now, huh?” Matt said, and Foggy was pleased to hear a note of amusement in Matt’s voice. A moment later, Foggy’s unconscious roommate moaned, and Matt drew in on himself again.

“Nah. Nothing hurts now. My lips feel really weird, though,” Foggy said. His lips did feel weird, though he didn’t notice until after he said it. Or...maybe that was the wrong way around…

“Yeah, I think you felt it before you said it, buddy,” Matt said, at which point Foggy realized that his internal thoughts were less internal than he’d previously thought.

“I feel weird,” Foggy said.

“I know, man. That’s why I hate painkillers...they mess with your senses,” Matt sympathized. His hand moved towards Foggy’s bed, like he wanted to touch Foggy, but something made him jump and pull back again. Foggy frowned.

“What’s wrong, Matt? You know I’m gonna be fine, right? I mean, I have to spend the next two months in this,” he said, raising his leg. Matt didn’t react. “Oh. I lifted up my leg to show you, which was dumb, cuz you can’t see it.”

“No, I can’t, and put it down, you’ll hurt yourself,” Matt said, voice laced with worry. Foggy obeyed. “Did you do it?”

“Yeah, I did it. Hey...you can’t see!” he exclaimed. Matt raised an eyebrow.

“I know that, Foggy. You have known I can’t see ever since I met you,” he said, exasperated.

“Yeah, no, I know, but like. The blind thing. When you got blind, I mean...was that the last time you were in hospital?” Foggy asked, with dawning understanding.

“No, that wasn’t the last time,” Matt whispered. His throat was so tight that his whisper barely made it out to the silence of the room. “It was after that. My dad….he had to be brought to the hospital morgue, when he died.”

“Fuck,” Foggy muttered. He rubbed a hand through his hair, over his face. “Fucking hell.”

“It was a long time ago,” Matt said. Foggy flailed an arm out to awkwardly pat Matt’s shoulder.

“Get out of here, Matt,” he said, too quickly.

“What?” Matt asked, rearing back like he’d been stung. Foggy fought through the fuzzy haze of the drugs.

“Not like that. I don’t not want you to be here. I mean, I don’t want you to be here, but not because I don’t like having you here. I do like you being here.” He smiled warmly at Matt, trying to convey how grateful he was. “I like you to be here.”

“Right,” Matt said. Foggy appreciated the effort Matt was putting into not laughing. Judging by the tightness of Matt’s lips, it was not an insignificant feat. “You like me to be here, you just want me to get out of here.”

“Yes!” Foggy said triumphantly. Matt continued to stare at his shoulder with an enigmatic smile on his lips, the very picture of patience. There was still a tightness around his eyes and knuckles that Foggy didn’t like. Foggy sighed. “What was I saying?”

“You like me to be here,” Matt prompted. Foggy nodded. He waved his hand through the air expressively, nearly hitting Matt in the face.

“I appreciate you accompanying my broken butt to the hospital, Matthew,” Foggy explained slowly. Perhaps too slowly, given the perplexed look he was getting from Matt. He corrected himself. “My broken leg, I mean, along with the rest of me,” he said, a little faster this time.

“Of course I came with you. It sucks being in the hospital alone,” Matt said patiently. Foggy flapped a hand in his direction.

“Yes! That, exactly. Hospitals...they suck. But they suck less for me than you, because of...of history,” said Foggy. His hand came down to rest somewhere on Matt’s torso, just above his stomach. Matt’s hand came up to grip Foggy’s wrist, redirecting Foggy’s hand to the bed. Matt kept his fingers on the back of Foggy’s wrist, and Foggy smiled.

“I can handle it,” Matt said firmly. His mouth had gone tight again. Foggy frowned.

“Of course. Matt Murdock, soon-to-be badass lawyer. Nothing can stop you! You’re like...like a king, or a superhero, or a...a lion,” Foggy said, nodding wisely.

“A lion,” Matt repeated. His eyebrows were raised, and his fingers tapped the back of Foggy’s wrist.

“A brave, blind lion,” Foggy said with absolute confidence. “But you don’t always have to be brave just for me. If you’re...scared of hospitals or whatever it is…”

“I’m not scared,” Matt said stubbornly. He pulled his hand away. Foggy let out a discontented huff, and a look of curiosity flicked across Matt’s face.

“Okay, sorry, scared was the wrong word. Unhappy? I mean, the memories you have here, nobody would be happy with those,” Foggy said magnanimously. “I can’t even imagine how much it must suck being you and being here.”

“It’s fine,” Matt said, his voice dropping. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Why do you always say that?” Foggy asked, frowning. He fluttered his hand out again, pointing vaguely at Matt. “I’m pointing at you, because you always say that.”

“It doesn’t, though,” Matt insisted. His hand came up, searching for Foggy’s, and when he found Foggy’s fingers he set them back on the bed once more. Take his cue from Foggy’s disappointment earlier, he left his hand resting on the back of Foggy’s. “You’re hurt, Foggy. Right now, that’s more important than me being…sensitive.”

“Being sensitive isn’t a bad thing,” Foggy said. He didn’t dare move for fear that Matt would take his hand away again. Foggy liked Matt’s hand. It was warm and dry, and it made Foggy’s head feel less like it was spinning away. It was nice. “You went through a lot, and being sensitive just means you felt things. You feel things like everybody else. Nobody doesn’t feel things.”

“You’re rambling,” Matt said fondly. His thumb rubbed gently across the back of Foggy’s hand once.

“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” Foggy pointed out. He looked at Matt, whose glasses hid any emotion in his eyes. There was still a tightness around his mouth, though, and his shoulders were sitting too high. “I can call Mom or Dad, tell them to come over here. I won’t be alone if you have to leave. I’d understand.”

“You always do,” Matt said under his breath, so softly that Foggy almost didn’t catch it.

“So go on. Get out of here. I’m only in until tomorrow, and then I’ll come home and you can...you can do that hovering thing you do when you want to pretend you’re not worried, and you can bring me pizza or soup and beer or whatever, and we can hang out,” Foggy said blithely. Matt gave a short huff of a laugh, squeezing Foggy’s hand.

“Okay. I’ll call your parents, and I’ll stay until they get here,” he said. He squeezed Foggy’s hand again. “You really won’t mind?”

“Course not. What kind of friend would I be if I made you stay here with the ghosts?” Foggy asked. He didn’t mean for the comment to settle over them like it did. A shiver ran through Matt as a patient was pushed by the door. Foggy turned his hand so that his fingers could curl around Matt’s. He looked at Matt’s face intently, trying to imagine how it looked when Matt was a kid, bandaged and blinded and lost in the cold, antiseptic thrum of a hospital. How it might have looked only a year or so later, when his friend had to walk in with his father’s lifeless body. He squeezed Matt’s hand, settling his free hand on the back of Matt’s. “It’s cool, Matt. I appreciate you getting me here and settling me in. Mom and Dad will too.”

“I can do it. I can stay,” said Matt. There was a stubborn edge to his voice.

“Of course you can. But don’t,” Foggy said quietly. “Call them, man, seriously, they’ll be here in no time and you can go back home.”

“Yeah. Okay,” Matt said, relief flooding his voice. He cleared his throat and shifted forwards. It looked like he wanted to do something, but stopped himself. Foggy took his hands away from Matt’s reluctantly.

“You might need that back if you’re gonna call my folks,” he said pragmatically. His hands felt oddly empty now, and he smoothed down his own blankets.

“Yeah,” Matt agreed. He plucked up Foggy’s phone from the side table, calling Foggy’s dad first, then his mom. The conversations were almost identical in structure, if not in content. Both of them were worried. They both demanded to be put on speaker. They both relieved Matt of his duty at Foggy’s bedside with a ready eagerness. They both made Matt laugh before hanging up.

Matt and Foggy chatted until Foggy’s parents arrived, the kind of meaningless conversation that could only possibly be interesting to two best friends, one of whom was high as a kite. Matt smiled less than usual, Foggy laughed more, but between them they passed the time. Just before Foggy’s parents arrived, Matt leaned forward again. He took one of Foggy’s hands in both of his and dropped his forehead onto the back of Foggy’s hand. Foggy didn’t know a lot about religion, but he knew a little something about penance and benediction.

He patted the back of Matt’s head with his free hand. When Matt didn’t move, his hand settled there, his thumb running over the short hairs where Matt’s skull met his neck. Foggy’s thumb swooped into the dip as he stroked Matt’s hair.

“I’m okay, Matt,” he said softly. “I’m gonna be just fine.”

“Good,” Matt said with a deeply held fervour. When he raised his head, his eyes were damp, but there was a smile on his face. “When I see you tomorrow, I’m not even gonna let you get up for beer. I’ll take care of everything.”

“Works for me,” Foggy said cheerfully as his mother walked in the room. She kissed Matt’s cheek first, then Foggy’s. Matt slipped out while Foggy’s mother fussed over him. The loss of Matt’s presence was tempered by Foggy’s relief that Matt wouldn’t have to keep hurting in secret for him. Matt kept his secrets well. Guilty secrets, wracked with unearned shame. Foggy was unravelling them slowly, bit by bit.

He called Matt before he fell asleep that night, and first thing the next morning, just to let Matt know he was still okay.

(Years later, Foggy’s in hospital again. Their neighbourhood, their city, their world is on fire. He calls Matt, over and over, desperate.

“Where are you, buddy?”

No answer. Hours pass. Karen doesn’t let him leave, but she doesn’t leave him, either. Foggy imagines his best friend in all kinds of horrible scenarios. Matt blown to pieces. Matt unconscious in the street. Matt coming to, lost and confused.

He doesn’t know how he falls asleep, but when he wakes up, Matt’s there. His hands cradle one of Foggy’s, and his forehead is dropped to the back of Foggy’s hand. There’s a damp spot on the blanket under Matt’s cheek. Matt is sleeping.

Foggy drops a hand into Matt’s hair and waits for his friend to wake up.)


	3. books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt's books are taking over the dorm room, and Foggy's reaction leads to a misunderstanding.

It was bound to slip out eventually. Foggy had never been shy about telling people how he felt about them. He said “I love you” at the end of every conversation with his parents, his sister, even his friends back home. In fact, the first time he said it to Matt, he didn’t even notice its significance at the time. He figured he must have said it once when they were both drunk or something. After all, they’d known each other two whole years by the time they stumbled home from the library at three in the morning, exhausted, with red eyes (Foggy) and sore fingers (Matt) from reading for hours.

“Just - here, let me…” Foggy said gently, taking the key from Matt’s tired, stiff fingers.

“I can barely even feel my hands,” Matt groaned, dropping his head against the cool wood of the wall.

“I know, champ. And my eyes are watering so hard that the whole door is a blur...hold on...there,” he said triumphantly. He pushed the door open and walked through, searching for a spot to put his bag of heavy books down.

“Now you know how I feel. Well, I mean, not exactly how I feel,” Matt replied. Foggy chuckled, then sighed.

“Matty, I love you, but you gotta put your books away. They’re colonizing our room, man” he groaned. He dumped the bag on his own bed, the only place in the room that was free of books or paper or…

“Sorry,” Matt mumbled, and Foggy squinted at him, blinking. His eyes really were tired. Matt looked tired too, his shoulders pulled forwards, mouth in a hard line. “Sorry, I’ll...I’ll get them out of your way…”

“Tomorrow,” Foggy said, waving a hand. “I just waved my hand at you,” he narrated. Matt’s tight mouth twitched.

“No, I’m fine, I’ll do it now. You go to sleep. Take your shoes off,” he said in short, clipped sentences. Foggy moaned.

“My feet are so far,” he said, dropping back on to his bed. He toed weakly at one of his beat-up sneakers until it fell off, then sighed and reached down for the other one. He could hear Matt moving around the room, picking up book after book and placing them neatly on his bed. “Hey, no - where are you gonna sleep with them all on your bed? Just like...put them in a pile somewhere or something,” he suggested.

“I don’t want them to be in your way,” Matt replied. Foggy rolled his eyes.

“I rolled my eyes at you. Shove them in a corner and go to sleep, Matt,” he said. Then he yawned widely, dropped his head back next to his bag, and fell asleep lying half off the bed.

 

When he woke up to the blaring of his alarm clock the next morning, he was in a much more comfortable position. He was on his side under a blanket, feet tucked up neatly. He chuckled at the idea of Matt repositioning him without him even noticing. Then he swung his feet over the edge, expecting to find his shoes or a book or something down there. The floor was completely clear. His shoes and bag were pushed back under his bed, and there wasn’t a book in sight. He shook his head, threw some clothes on, and went to class.

 

It took Foggy an embarrassingly long time to figure out what had happened. It was just that Matt played everything so close to the chest. His walls had walls. It was time for finals, and they’d been studying or taking tests for weeks, and Foggy blamed that for his distraction. It finally occurred to him when he pushed open the door to his room the day before his Punjabi final.

“Matt. Matt, I need help. There is absolutely, definitely no way I’m gonna pass Punjabi, man,” he proclaimed. Matt looked up in his direction, glasses off and eyes wide and guilty.

“Foggy...I wasn’t expecting you so soon...hang on,” Matt stammered, and that was weird. Matt rarely stammered. But he pushed back his chair, groping around to grab the small pile of books that was building up on the floor by his desk, and -oh. Realization hit him like a ton of bricks. _I love you, but you have to put your books away_.

“Don’t worry about it,” Foggy said earnestly. Matt ignored him. Foggy sighed.

When he thought back, of course, Foggy realized that Matt’s weird mood and obsessive cleaning weren’t because of finals. It was all related to the fact that one night three weeks ago, for the first time, Foggy had told Matt he loved him. Which, they were best friends, they spent nearly all their time together, _of course_ Foggy loved Matt. The thing, Foggy realized, was that Matt had spent more than ten years without anyone to tell him he was loved. Foggy thought there might have been a girlfriend in there, a big love of his life - the Greek girl maybe, she was around longer than the others - who had said it. The way Matt was acting now, though, maybe not. Or maybe it was just that he hadn’t heard it like this, platonically, from someone who was more like family...  
_But_. It was the _but_ that Matt had heard. It was the _but_ that Foggy now regretted. The first time that Matt had heard an “I love you” in over a decade, and it had a string attached. Foggy hadn’t meant it like that, of course, but he wasn’t at all surprised that’s how Matt had heard it. So now, Matt was fixated on the _but_. He was fixated on getting his books out of the way all the time, on cleaning up the room so that Foggy would _keep loving him_ , Jesus.

“Jesus,” Foggy said. Matt froze, still looking guilty.

“I...I can take them back to the library now. I don’t really need them,” he said in a small voice.

“Matt, it’s seriously, honest to God, it’s fine. I didn’t even mind that much in the first place. I mean, it’s not like I’m a picture of orderliness. I’m pretty sure there’s pizza in my pillowcase, I don’t have a single pair of clean socks, and I’m going to fail Punjabi,” Foggy said woefully. He dropped down on to his bed, hoping that his distraction tactics might work. “I need help.”

“Can someone from your class help you? Maybe that girl you like?” Matt asked. His mouth was still tight, his shoulders still slumped, but he didn’t look quite as miserable.

“She called me Freddie the other day. I don’t think it’s going to work out between us,” Foggy replied. “And this despite the fact that she’s the reason I’m failing-”

“Aw, come on, that’s not fair,” Matt said with a chuckle. “Hey, I know a great website that translates stuff for you. I’ve been using it for Spanish. We’ll get you to memorize enough to get you through,” he continued, reaching for his laptop.

“You’re an angel, buddy, but I think I’m beyond that point,” Foggy said. Matt’s shoulders fell, and Foggy cleared his throat. “But hey, no harm in trying, right? If we’re pulling an all-nighter, though, I’m getting us pizza first. I bet you haven’t eaten today, I know I haven’t eaten enough today, and studying languages makes my brain hurt. Pizza helps abate the brain-hurting.”

“Okay,” Matt agreed. His smile was small. They could work on that.

 

For the next week, Foggy really thought things were getting better. Matt had allowed a small stack of books to pile neatly on the desk while he and Foggy pulled all-nighter after all-nighter, studying like madmen for the last test on the last week. The morning of, Foggy went for an early morning coffee run. He passed by the message board on his way back to the room just in case their torts professor had put up their grades. His breath caught when he saw the paper copy of the grades list pinned neatly to the board. Summoning all his courage he moved forward to read it. He wasn’t surprised to read Matt’s name second on the list, of course - _Matthew Murdock, 98%, A+_ \- but it came as a shock when he scanned down only a few more names before find his own. _Franklin Nelson, 94%, A+_. He stared. His jaw dropped. And then he whooped and jumped, spilling a little hot coffee on his wrist. He yelped, but he didn’t really care.

 

Foggy ran back to their room, trying to keep his coffee-filled hands steady, and to be fair there wasn’t too much spilled by the time he pushed the door open. With both hands full, he had to awkwardly twist the knob, pleased that he’d left it unlocked. He bumped the door open with his hip, holding his hands out in front of him - and tripped over a book.

“Ow,” he yelped as his knee hit the floor painfully. The coffee in his right hand spilled out over the floor as he braced for impact, sinking into the carpet.

“Crap, Foggy, I’m sorry-” Matt said, voice croaky and full of sleep. His hair was a mess, the red mark on his cheek and arm letting Foggy know he’d fallen asleep at his desk. Some of the books had toppled off the neat pile, and one of them had happened to slide in front of the door. From the look on Matt’s face, you’d think it was a crime roughly equal to assassinating the president.

“Hey, no-” Foggy began, but Matt was already on his feet, rushing over.

“I didn’t mean to knock them down, Fog. Here-” he said quickly, reaching out a hand towards the vicinity of the wall. Foggy chuckled a little and grabbed it, standing up.

“It’s fine. I’m all in one piece, see?” Foggy said, rubbing his knee. “I mean, not see, but...if you could see, you would know that I’m…” He trailed off as Matt grabbed the book from the floor and fumbled his way back to the desk caneless, reaching out for the table leg, pulling himself up. It looked...desperate. Foggy sighed. “Matt…”

“I’ll put them all away,” Matt said, dropping into the chair so he could add the book to the pile. “You won’t even see them next time, I swear-”

“Matt, stop,” Foggy snapped. Matt went still, stiff, shoulders pulled taut. Foggy sighed. “Shit. I’m going to hug you now, okay?”

“Huh-” Matt began, but Foggy didn’t give him more of a chance to reply. He took the two steps to the desk and wrapped his arms around Matt from behind, his hands meeting over Matt’s chest. He dropped his chin to Matt’s head, a little harder than he intended. “What are you doing?” Matt asked quietly, nervously, and Foggy shook his head, chin rubbing against Matt’s hair.

“I don’t care about the books, Matt,” he said soothingly, giving Matt’s chest a pat. Matt’s breath hitched, his head dropping forwards.

“I don’t want to be in your way,” Matt said in a small voice. He sounded more like a kid than Foggy had ever heard. A vision flashed in front of Foggy’s eyes - a twelve year old kid, blind and parentless, head bowed before an uncaring adult. _I don’t want to be in your way_. He tightened his arms around Matt’s shoulders.

“Okay, but see, our room is not big enough to be out of each other’s way. Our clothes get mixed up, and we sometimes pick up the wrong laptop, and it yells at us when we try to open up the college home page, and it’s confusing, and...and sometimes we’re in each other’s way. And that’s okay. It’s fine, because I love you, okay?”

Foggy didn’t know it was possible for Matt to go even more tense than he already was. He was wrong. Under his hands, Matt’s body went completely taut, like a wire about to snap. Foggy just squeezed him tighter, dropping his cheek to Matt’s hair and rubbing his chest gently. “Foggy…”

“I don't mean it like that, you doof. I love you as my totally platonic best buddy for life. There’s nothing you can do or say that’s so awful that you’re gonna make me run away, okay? There’s no conditions, no strings. No buts. I just love you, man.” Matt shook his head, hair rustling against Foggy’s cheek, and Foggy was surprised to feel something damp hit his hand. A teardrop. It had been a while.

“You don’t know that,” Matt said after a few second passed. Foggy frowned.

“What don’t I know?”

“You don’t know you won’t leave,” Matt said stubbornly. Foggy sighed heavily and shifted back, letting go. Matt’s breath hitched again, his fear of Foggy doing...something was practically palpable. Leaving, maybe. Punching him. Foggy wasted no time in spinning the desk chair around to make Matt face him. He knew it didn’t matter to Matt, not really, but it mattered to _Foggy_ that they were facing each other for this, even if Matt couldn’t see him. He put his hands on Matt’s shoulders, thumb rubbing Matt’s neck gently.

“I won’t leave,” he said, completely steady. “Especially not over books, man. I mean, come on. Would you hate me for leaving books around? You’re the blind guy, it would be way worse for you,” he pointed out.

“That’s different,” Matt insisted. Foggy couldn’t help but shake him a little.

“Not different. Exactly the goddamn same,” he said quietly. He warred with himself for a few moments, thought _fuck it_ , and pulled Matt towards him, hugging him fiercely. Matt’s glasses dug against his neck. He didn’t care. “You’re my best friend, and don’t you forget it. Okay?”

“...okay,” Matt said finally. One of his hands crept up to Foggy’s shoulder, resting there for a moment before patting him. “Okay, Foggy, I get it.”

“Then don’t freak out next time,” Foggy grumbled, ruffling Matt’s hair as he pulled away. He stepped back. His knee hurt, but he kept that to himself. Instead, he grinned, throwing his arms out wide. “So. Torts final? Guess who came top of the class!”

“Ellie Harrison?” Matt guessed, raising his eyebrows.

“Well, yeah, but she’s a freak of nature or psychic or something. No, I mean after her,” Foggy said dismissively. “You, man. 98%. Don’t make that face, it’s only two percent, NOBODY got a perfect score, not even Ellie. And guess who’s sitting pretty on 94%?” A smile, bright as the sun, broke out on Matt’s face.

“I KNEW you could do it!” he exclaimed, standing up and reaching for Foggy’s arm. Foggy shuffled sideways so Matt could pat his arm. “That’s awesome, man.”

“I think we should celebrate with breakfast. Real breakfast, down in the caf and out of this room. Deal?” Foggy asked, patting Matt’s hand and turning so that Matt can take his elbow.

“Let me put on actual clothes so I feel like a human first,” Matt said. His voice sounded normal now, adult-sized and cheerful, and Foggy mentally patted himself on the back.

 

(It takes a lot longer for Matt to say it to Foggy. He is drunk, though not as drunk as Foggy thinks he is. It almost sticks in his throat on its way out. It’s worth it. Foggy practically glows with warmth, his heart ticking up, and he yanks Matt under his arm for a hug so fast that Matt almost tumbles to the ground. He doesn’t fall. 

Foggy’s there.)


	4. stick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy's never seen Matt Murdock afraid of anything until the day an old, blind man walks into the offices of Nelson and Murdock.

They didn’t have long to celebrate Matt taking down Wilson Fisk. Once the fear and adrenaline have worn off, they had to get to work starting over. The foundation on which Foggy and Matt’s new friendship was based shook under Foggy’s metaphorical feet. They had moments when it seemed like they were back to normal, or at least their new normal; the martyr in Matt seemed to find it particularly funny when Foggy made fun of his new Daredevil identity, and Foggy was only too happy to comply. It was weird how much he missed Matt, though. Matt was right there in the office every day, but there was a wall of lies and shattered ignorance between them. Foggy was breaking it down, but it was slow, and he still had trouble accepting it when Matt reached through.

 

Until the day he saw real fear on Matt Murdock’s face.

 

Foggy had never seen Matt scared before the day the old, blind dude walks into their office. At first, Foggy didn’t know what had happened to set Matt on edge. They were talking at Matt’s desk, making jokes about Matt using his Spanish to get girls, when Matt suddenly went rigid. His head darted to the side, then back up. He looked like a bird. It would be funny if it weren’t freaking Foggy the hell out.

“Matt? What’s going on?” Foggy asked, leaning forward. Matt leapt back like he’d been burnt, even though Foggy didn’t make contact. “What-”

“Stay in here,” Matt said sharply as he got to his feet.

“Why-”

“Don’t come out, Foggy, no matter what,” Matt insisted. He left the room and had a fast, quiet conversation with Karen. She joined Foggy a moment later, closing the door and sitting down. She looked very, very composed, which let Foggy know she was exactly as freaked out as he was.

“Did he tell you why we have to stay in here?” Foggy asked quietly. Karen gave him a tiny shake of the head and a glare in return. Seconds later, the front door to the offices opened. The cane appeared first, the old man second. He was wrinkled, thin, and he walked over to Matt with purpose. Matt looked like a caged animal. His shoulders were pulled back in an effort to exude confidence, but he kept shuffling his feet in their wide stance and the tendons in his neck were clearly visible. In contrast, the old man was completely relaxed. His voice, low and gravelly, was muffled by the barrier between them, but some phrases leaked through, things like _fat lawyer_ and _beanpole secretary_ and _being a pussy_. Phrases that made Foggy ball his hands into fists. He kept his promise, though, staying inside the office with Karen, who was watching with hard, red-rimmed eyes. Every question the old man asked was met with a short, sharp response from Matt. At one point, Matt surged forward, his hand in a fist at his hip. The old man’s head twitched towards the office where Foggy and Karen were sitting. Matt stopped himself inches from the old man’s face. Hissed something. The old man’s laughter filtered through the office door as he left. Karen was closer to the door than Foggy, so she reached Matt first.

“What was that all about?” Karen asked, the kindness in her voice tempered with that anxiety that always seemed to bubble below her surface. “Who was he?”

“An old friend,” Matt replied calmly. He rested his right hand on the desk. His left hand was in a white-knuckled fist at his side.

“Yeah, I always act like a lunatic when my old friends come to visit,” Foggy snorted.

“Marci,” Matt said. There was a hint of a smile on his lips. Foggy huffed dramatically.

“That’s not quite the same thing, but fine, I concede that point,” he said, magnanimous. “Concede one to us. Who the hell was that old man?”

“He was my teacher once, when I was a kid” Matt said. He sat back against the desk, hands gripping its edge. “He has a very specific skillset. He taught me a lot about how to use my...other senses.”

“Oh,” Foggy breathed. Karen looked at him. “After your accident, or after your dad died?” Foggy asked more clearly. When Karen looked back at Matt he nodded slightly, letting Matt know he remembered. Stick. That was the guy’s name.

“After my dad died, when I was at St Agnes. The nuns just wanted me to get some help. And he did help,” Matt said. Then he stood up suddenly, making Karen jump a little. He spoke to both of them intently. “That doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous, though. He...did some bad things in the past. So if you guys see him, walk away, okay?”

“Did he do those things to you?” Karen asked quietly. Foggy already knew the answer. He already knew not to ask.

“No. I’m fine,” Matt lied.

 

Foggy didn’t like lying to Karen. He didn’t like Matt lying to both of them, and he didn’t like how this lie was making Matt act. Matt was off for the next two days. His shoulders never lost that rangey, caged animal roll. He struggled to concentrate on his work in a way that Foggy had never seen, not even when Matt was half-dead from fighting criminals all night. Finally, Foggy decided that he wasn’t going to let Matt get away with the lie this time. He followed Matt home after work the next night. He wasn’t surprised to see Matt waiting for him at the door.

“How did you know I was following you?” he asked as he walked through the door Matt held open for him. He dropped his briefcase, took off his jacket, loosened his tie. Let Matt know he was planning on staying.

“We’ve spent most of the last five years together, Foggy, I’ve gotten pretty familiar with how you smell and sound and...everything.” Matt dumped the cane next to the door and followed Foggy to the couch.

“Everything, huh?” Foggy asked uncomfortably. He sat down on the couch. Matt sat opposite him on the table.

“Is this what you came here to talk about?” Matt asked.

“No, I guess not. Tell me about him, Matt. The whole story, this time,” Foggy replied. Matt sighed. There was a quiver in his breath that Foggy hated hearing. Who the hell could scare the Daredevil so thoroughly?

“His name is Stick,” Matt said.

“Yeah, I remember. And he’s the guy who taught you kung fu, right?” Foggy asked.

“Something like that. He...he taught me everything,” Matt said. He swallowed and shifted backwards, bracing a hand on the table. Foggy gave him a moment, but when it seemed like Matt wasn’t going to talk, he opened his mouth. Matt interrupted him. “I mean, he taught me everything about how to do what I do. How to sense everything. How to fight. How to survive.”

“How old were you when he was teaching you all this?” Foggy’s question was met with silence. “Matt. How old?”

“Twelve,” Matt said finally. Foggy closed his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face.

“So the next thing you’re going to tell me is that he was a trained teacher of blind people kung fu, right? He used dummies, and pads, and proper training techniques to make sure that a twelve-year-old Matt Murdock wasn’t hurt?” he hissed. 

“I wouldn’t have learned anything that way,” Matt snorted. Foggy dropped his head to his hand. “He knocked some sense into me and kept me from losing it. And then, when I started to rely on him, he...he left.”

“How long?” Foggy asked. Matt’s jaw tightened. The blind man didn’t speak. “Matt. How long did it last? How long was he hurting you?”

“I don’t remember exactly,” Matt ground out, facing his knees. “Less than a year. More than a few months.”

“Months! Fuck, Matt, It’s not right,” Foggy muttered into his hand. “The way all these people abused their positions of power when you were a kid, what Stick did to you, it’s not right…”

“I know,” Matt sighed. Foggy’s head shot up in shock. “What he did isn’t right. He shouldn’t have left.”

“He shouldn’t have hit you! Shit, he sounds like a paragon of human kindness,” Foggy spat out bitterly. Matt shrugged. “So you haven’t seen him since you were twelve?”

“No. He was here, not long ago,” Matt replied. He shifted, swallowed. That fear again. “He...he has this _war_ that he’s fighting. Last time he was here we didn’t exactly part on good terms. He’s an incredibly dangerous man.”

“An incredibly dangerous man whose whims you were subjected to as a twelve-year-old, traumatized child,” Foggy pointed out. “I can see why you’re so scared.”

“I’m not scared for me,” Matt said urgently. He leaned forward so that his fingers brushed Foggy’s knee, then pulled back a little. Still unsure. Foggy didn’t think that last part was a lie, not entirely, anyway. “He can’t be near you and Karen. He thinks you guys are a liability, that you make me weak. I don’t like to think of what he might be capable of…”

“We’ll be careful, Matt,” Foggy said, trying to calm Matt down. If he could hear Matt’s heartbeat, he was sure it would sound like a jackhammer.

“Last time he was here he killed a _kid_ , Foggy,” Matt continued. Foggy felt his own heart spike as he gasped. A child murderer? Matt was left alone, as a twelve-year-old, with a _child murderer_? He moved closer to Matt, almost reached out. He clenched his hands together in front of him.

“And he wants you to help him do that? Kill kids?” Foggy pressed.

“Yeah, and...he might use you as leverage. You and Karen. Or he’ll make me stay away from you...I can’t have anything happening to you guys,” Matt continued. His hands were digging into the table so hard that his knuckles were white. Foggy unclenched his hands, tapping Matt’s knee. Matt startled at the contact.

“Okay. I can’t tell you not to worry about it, because I don’t think that’ll work,” Foggy said, keeping his voice and his heartbeat even. “And I’d make a joke about him being an old blind guy, but I’ve seen actual, physical sharks that are less intimidating than that old blind guy. But I’m not worried, Matt. You know why?”

“No,” Matt ground out, shaking his head.

“I know you won’t let him hurt us,” Foggy said, with absolute confidence. Matt blinked. “And I know you won’t let him talk you into staying away from us, because if you do, I’ll kick your ass.”

“You’re gonna kick my ass?” Matt said, laughing a little. His hands eased on the table. Foggy mentally celebrated the tiny victory.

“Hey, I work out. Mostly my glutes, but I can kick like a mule,” Foggy continued. Matt chuckled again.

“Oh yeah? Where are your glutes?” Matt asked. Foggy waved at his chest, then his stomach, then his legs vaguely. Matt tipped his head back and let out a proper laugh.

“Shut up. I happen to have fantastic glutes, whereas you are clearly in terrible shape. I could take you, just watch,” Foggy insisted.

“Yeah, Foggy. You could take me,” Matt said quietly. There was still that edge under his voice that he’d never had before that night, the fear that Foggy might leave still pervasive. Foggy smiled anyway. It was a start.

 

Foggy didn’t see Stick again. He didn’t know what he would have done if he’d seen the old man. Shout some angry witticisms, maybe. A deep hatred for Stick had settled in Foggy’s gut that flared up whenever he saw that roll in Matt’s shoulders. It didn’t matter, though. He didn’t see Stick again. When they went in the next day, there was something weird about the office. Foggy knew Stick had been there, and he knew Matt knew it too. Matt’s anger simmered below the surface all day, to the point where Karen was imploring him to take a break. Matt, however, refused to leave the office. Foggy knew he didn’t want to let the two of them out of his sight. He made excuses to stay near Matt, pat his shoulders, let him know that Foggy and Karen were there. That they were okay. They all went out for drinks that night, and Matt somehow talked Karen into staying on Foggy’s couch for the night when they were all drunk and warm and giggly.

Matt sat up in a chair all night.

He disappeared at some point between 4 am, when Foggy got up to empty his near-bursting bladder, and 7 am, when Foggy’s alarm went off. Foggy woke Karen and they both stumbled into work, eyes bleary and heads aching. Matt showed up half an hour late with a heavy limp. His shoulders were loose, the fear that had been weighing them down lifted. He told Karen he’d stepped in a pothole that morning. She fussed over him. He smiled almost all day.

(A year later, Stick goes out to his home base in the countryside to find it empty. There are dozens of unpaid bills and notices of foreclosure in a neat pile just inside the door. They’re all addressed to his favorite alias, the one that he uses the most often. He laughs, then punches a wall.

He wonders how the fat lawyer figured it out.

Halfway across the country, Foggy gets a phone call. He smiles. It doesn’t make up for all the months of abuse Matt suffered as a kid, but it’s something. It’s something.)


	5. the devil inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy felt like he should have seen Matt's meltdown coming.

Foggy felt like he should have seen Matt’s meltdown coming.

 

He missed the signs for weeks. Okay, so Matt had been on edge in general lately. Foggy had plenty of stress of his own to contend with. And yeah, everything had been off-kilter between them since the night that Foggy found Matt nearly bleeding to death in a mask. That night Foggy had felt like he didn’t know Matt Murdock at all, but he was rapidly learning that nobody knew Matt Murdock better. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

 

He’d found himself questioning everything. What could he believe about their friendship anymore? Foggy didn’t know whether Matt even enjoyed the things they did together, or whether he faked his happiness. Faked it. After all, Matt’s senses were extraordinary. Was it overwhelming when they had pizza and listened to movies? When they went out for dinner? When they went to Josie’s for drinks? And if Foggy asked, would Matt tell the truth?

 

So Foggy stopped asking. He didn’t think Matt would notice anyway. They were pulling 14, sometimes 15 hour days at the office thanks to this case against the Russians. They were rumpled and tired, snapping at each other while Karen tried to keep the peace. It wasn’t anything worse than exam time at law school, or at least Foggy didn’t think so. But when Saturday rolled around and Matt called one of their best witnesses a liar and Foggy sniped that Matt would know all about liars, wouldn’t he...well. Karen lost it. She ordered them both out for drinks, _just the two of you, work it out _.__ She threatened not to come in on Monday, or possibly ever. Foggy looked at Matt. Matt looked somewhere in the direction of Foggy’s ear. They nodded.

 

That’s how they found themselves at Josie’s, drinking in silence while Josie shot suspicious looks at them over her shoulder. The bar stool dug into Foggy’s leg. He sighed.

“So...do you still like it here?” Foggy asked casually. His words seemed to startle Matt, which was weird. This was all weird.

“I never stopped liking it here,” Matt replied, his voice gravelly. “You know I like it here.”

“I thought maybe you were pretending because this seat practically has my butt print in it,” Foggy replied. He shrugged. He didn’t bother narrating it. Matt winced.

“Foggy. Even when I didn’t like where we were that much, I liked hanging out with you,” said Matt sadly. “I still do.”

“Well okay, then. Shots all round,” Foggy said with forced cheer, banging his hand on the bar. Despite her frown, Josie’s eyes sparkled when she served their drinks. “Oh, Josie, stop breaking my heart. You know you’re my one and only, and it hurts me deep in my soul when you look at me like that.”

“Shut up,” Josie grumbled. She gave them the shots for half price.

“I’ve dreamed of our wedding on a Costa Rican beach, Josie. You’ll wear white, I’ll wear a Hawaiian shirt, but a tasteful one. We’ll be together forever!” He raised his glass. Matt laughed and followed suit. “To our pending nuptials!”

“To your wedding,” Matt snorted. They clinked their glasses, tilted their heads back, and took their shots. Foggy sat back up. Matt tilted back further, almost sliding off the chair.

“Whoa, whoa, buddy!” Foggy exclaimed, wrapping an arm around Matt, the shot glass banging Matt’s shoulder. “What’s going on here?”

“Guess it’s been so long, I can’t hold my liquor anymore,” Matt replied lightly. His words tripped together, and Foggy rolled his eyes.

“Nope, that lie stinks worse than my sock drawer. Let’s get out of here,” Foggy said, helping Matt off the stool. Matt pulled away once his feet and cane hit the ground, but he wobbled into a bar stool almost immediately, and Foggy had to grab his arm to steady him. He squinted at Matt’s face as they walked out the door. “Seriously, what the hell is going on with you?”

“I...may have had some trouble sleeping,” Matt admitted. Foggy propped him against the wall and raised an arm for a cab. He looked at Matt’s profile. It was hard to tell in the poor light, but now that he really looked, he could see the dark circles, the creases around Matt’s eyes. He frowned.

“How much trouble?” Foggy asked, sticking his arm out again.

“I get an hour or two,” Matt said defensively. Foggy dropped his hand and stared at Matt.

“An hour or two? A night? And how long has this been going on?” he asked Matt, watching intently.

“...how long have we been on the Oberon case?” Matt replied weakly.

“Fuck,” Foggy groaned. Nearly two weeks, and the first sign was Matt falling off a bar stool. “Fucking _fuck_ , why didn’t you say anything?” He stuck his arm out again, waving, and finally a taxi pulled up. Foggy wrapped an arm around Matt’s, leading him to the taxi. If anyone asked, he’d say he was worried about Matt falling. It wouldn’t be true.

“You couldn’t help anyway, and I didn’t think you’d approve of my nighttime activities,” Matt admitted. Foggy frowned, but he didn’t reply as he bundled Matt into the back seat.

 

Two weeks. How had he managed not to notice that Matt hadn’t slept in two weeks? They’d been under pressure with the Oberon case, sure, but not so much pressure that Foggy should have failed to notice that Matt hadn’t been sleeping at all. He sat close to Matt in the back seat of the cab, his thigh pressing against Matt’s, though Matt didn’t get closer and Foggy didn’t want to push it. Matt was...somewhere else. Running on fumes and that _something_ that lurked in the back of his head to always push him further. He’d seen it once or twice at college, though he hadn’t known what it meant then. Matt had always gone off to the gym when it happened, vanished for hours. Foggy knew now that he was letting off that steam that he bottled in, the anger and pressure and guilt that he now took out on criminals while wearing red leather.

Foggy made an executive decision to head back to his own apartment, since his request for input on their destination got a growled _whatever you want_ from Matt in response. When they arrived he squeezed Matt’s arm, offering Matt his elbow. Matt didn’t take it. Foggy tried not to take that personally.

“Think you can make it upstairs, buddy?” he asked lightly, holding the door to the building open.

“I can make it,” Matt ground out, walking past Foggy and upstairs with legs made of lead and a core made of steel. Foggy shook his head and followed to the third floor, where Matt was standing at the doorway. He gave Matt a shaky smile the other man didn’t see and opened the door to let them in. Matt made a beeline for the couch, straight as an arrow.

“No, Matt, you take the bed. You need the sleep more than me,” Foggy insisted. Matt ignored him and sat down. Foggy made conversation and coffee, to give himself something to do other than shake Matt and yell sense into him. “Okay, suit yourself, as long as you get some sleep. Can you even sleep when you’re like this?”

“Huh?” Matt’s head snapped in Foggy’s direction, and...oh. Matt’s face was tired, slack. That steam in his mind was gone.

“Oh, it’s gone,” Foggy said. “There was something fuelling you then, you know? You used to go to the gym at college, but now I guess you go find some lowlife to...pow,” he said, mimicking a punch, then smiled. The smile vanished when Matt’s face crumpled. Foggy blinked stupidly for a moment, mouth hanging open. Then he rushed over to the couch, feet tripping over each other to send him into the cushions knees-first.

“Lie down, Matt, come on, you need to sleep, it’s okay,” he muttered, hands fluttering around Matt’s shoulder. As Matt laid back his expression was still wrecked, devastated but not crying, and Foggy didn’t know what to do. “What can I do? What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t want you to see it,” Matt mumbled. His voice was strained. “I try so hard, I don’t ever want to let it out around you, I don’t want you to see…” he said, breath hitching.

“See what?” Foggy asked, confused.

“My grandmother always said...the Murdock boys, they got the devil in them,” Matt whispered. He was shaking slightly. Foggy frowned, brows drawn, and he let a hand land on Matt’s shuddering shoulder.

“The devil...you think...no, Matt,” he breathed. He kneeled on the couch in front of Matt, shaking his head, hands on both shoulders. “Jesus…”

“Don’t think he’d have anything to do with me,” Matt said with a stuttering laugh. Something in Foggy’s brain went _snap_. He turned and punched the cushion, startling Matt. “Sorry. Not funny. I wouldn’t let the devil out on you, Foggy,” he added quietly, and Foggy felt like screaming.

“Your grandmother...fuck, Matt. You’ve told me about her before, you adored her, she was one of the only people who didn’t actually _beat you up_ as a kid-”

“My dad never _touched_ me,” Matt interjected, surging forward. He pointed a finger in Foggy’s direction. “He didn’t, he’d never-”

“No, I’m sorry, I know, it’s okay. He was a good dad,” Foggy said placatingly. _A good dad who made you drink and sew up his wounds_ , he thought but didn’t say. Instead, he patted Matt’s shoulder with a tentative hand, expecting him to pull away. Matt sank into his touch.

“And my grandmother was a good lady too. Tough, you know, but-”

“But _nothing_. She told you that you had _evil_ in you, and you can’t have been older than, what, ten? She died after that, right? Did she say it to you _after you went blind_?” Foggy replied. He knew his voice was rising as he got angrier, and he pulled away from Matt, off the couch, to pace the floor. “When did she tell you that you had evil in you, and there was nothing you could do about it?”

“I can do things. Penance, praying...I could keep it in, not let it out…” Matt said. “I know you don’t get it, Foggy, but it’s in me, I can feel it.”

“You…” Foggy said shakily. Took a deep breath. “You are _not evil_ , Matthew Murdock.” Matt frowned.

“No, I know. It’s not all the time…”

“No, not _ever._ You were raised in a violent neighbourhood by a boxer. I’m not saying he was violent all the time, but that’s how he made his living, and you learned that. You were abused by...by fucking _everyone_. You’re...you’re a good man who’s had to deal with violence all his life,” Foggy tried to explain. Matt’s face twisted. Foggy wished that Matt would take his glasses off. “I wish you’d take your glasses off.”

“You don’t know what it feels like,” Matt said, already removing his glasses. He set them on the table. Foggy smiled a little at the gesture. “It’s inside me, clawing to get out, pushing me…”

“That’s not the devil, buddy,” Foggy said softly, walking back to the couch. He stood in front of it, hovering. “I know you have your faith, but this isn’t religion, it’s cruelty. A lot of people feel angry, feel like they want to punch people. That’s...that’s something that a lot of people have to deal with. Some people talk to somebody about it. You dress up in a gimp suit and punch murderers in the face. I mean, I can’t say I wish you wouldn’t see a shrink instead, but-”

“They never help. The grief counselors, the trauma counselors, they never helped me,” Matt muttered. He looked exhausted, his head drooping into the corner of the couch. Foggy sighed. “Foggy, it doesn’t matter.”

“No. You don’t get to say that, not this time, not again,” Foggy said through gritted teeth. Matt shrank back into the couch, and Foggy sighed. He sat on the arm of the couch, patting Matt’s ankle. “It matters. _You matter_ , buddy. You mattered then, and you matter now.” Matt swallowed, pressing his face into the couch. He mumbled something. “Huh?” said Foggy. Matt dragged himself to face the roof.

“I can feel the darkness in me. I know it’s in me, whether it’s the Devil himself or my own evil, rattling around” Matt said quietly. There were tears pooling in the corners of his eyes now. Foggy lifted Matt’s feet and slid down to the couch cushion, then dumped Matt’s feet back in his lap. He rubbed Matt’s shin comfortingly over his suit pants, and Matt huffed out a breath. He didn’t protest, so Foggy kept going, holding on to the point of contact between them.

“Who did you beat up last night?” Foggy asked, running his hand up to Matt’s knee. Matt frowned, confused.

“I don’t think you want to hear-” Matt said, but Foggy shook his head hard.

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know,” Foggy replied.

“What if I don’t want to tell you?” Matt said thickly.

“Well, I’d say you owe me. I tell you everything, Matt. I’m asking you for this,” Foggy said, letting his voice go sharp. He hadn’t forgotten the anger that still simmered over the lies, and he wasn’t above using it when he needed to.

“A rapist,” Matt finally choked out. Foggy rubbed Matt’s knee soothingly. “Or, I don’t know if he ever did it before, but he was going to be a rapist. It was his girlfriend. He was high, his blood was rushing so loud, it almost drowned out the yelling. She punched him in the chest when he pinned her against the bed. Told him no, said it again, but he kept pushing and she finally just...went loose. Right before I ripped him off her.” Matt stopped, swallowing. “She was embarrassed, can you believe it? As if I’d….so I threw him out the window.”

“Matt,” Foggy muttered, his hand stilling. Matt sniffed. Foggy shook his head and started moving his hand again.

“It was only the second story. He didn’t even break anything. I knocked him around a bit and tied him up. Called the police, because the girlfriend was too scared, too embarrassed. It wasn’t right, she shouldn’t have felt like that…” Matt seemed to run out of words, his huge eyes fixed on the ceiling. Foggy nodded slowly.

“So you intervened to stop a rape after hearing a suspicious sound in someone’s home, then used appropriate force to prevent further harm coming to the victim,” Foggy said, keeping his voice soft and even.

“Appropriate force?” Matt asked incredulously. Foggy shrugged.

“He was a rapist. So, if anyone has the devil in them...is it the man who tried to rape his girlfriend, or the man who stopped him?” he asked. A tremor ran through Matt’s whole body. Foggy ran a thumb over his ankle.

“Maybe both,” Matt whispered.

“I don’t believe that. You think I’d be best friends with the devil? You don’t have evil in you, Matt. You have...trauma. Pain. And I’ll never believe you’re evil, not ever,” Foggy replied fiercely. “Even with all this, the lies and the vigilantism, I never questioned _that_.”

“How can you still l...like me after all this?” Matt’s whisper was thick, and one of the tears that had been lurking finally trailed down his cheek. It was chased by another, then another, the dam finally breaking. Foggy waited it out, letting Matt cry against the couch as he kept moving his hands up and down Matt’s shins. He didn’t want to move, to speak, to do anything to make Matt retreat into his mind again, but he never let go. Finally, when the flood of tears abated, Foggy sighed. He gently moved Matt’s legs so he could stand. He fetched a box of tissues from the table and handed some to Matt. While Matt wiped at his face, Foggy bent over him, burying a hand in Matt’s hair.

“You’re my best friend. Of course I still love you, dumbass,” he said. His voice sounded loud in his quiet apartment, only Matt’s hitching breath accompanying it.

“You said once that nothing would make you leave,” Matt whispered. Foggy’s heart sank to his stomach as he shut his eyes. He carded his fingers through Matt’s hair while he tried to come up with something, anything to say in response to that broken promise. They were silent for a moment, Matt’s breath wheezing.

“I came back.” Foggy’s voice was thick when he finally spoke. He cleared his throat and moved back to look into Matt’s sightless brown eyes. Foggy stared for a moment, finding his best friend in there, and smiled. “Now I’m going to put you in the bed, because you desperately need sleep, and you’re not allowed to wake up until you smell breakfast tomorrow. You got it?”

“Got it,” Matt said, a warm, sincere smile breaking out on his face. Foggy removed his hand from Matt’s hair and held it out to help his friend up. Matt took it, pulled himself to his feet, and then dropped heavily against Foggy’s chest, wrapping both arms around his shoulders. “Thank you, Foggy.”

“Anything for you, buddy,” Foggy affirmed. He hugged Matt back with strong arms, holding him up as much as embracing him. Matt was _exhausted_ , he could feel it in the tremble of Matt’s muscles. He held on to Matt, breathing in unison, letting Matt take what he needed. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t need it too. He rubbed his hand up and down Matt’s back until his arms started to shake with the exertion of holding Matt up. Then eventually, finally, he tapped Matt’s shoulder. “Now, you have to get your beauty sleep if you’re gonna charm Josie into giving us free drinks tomorrow night. Come on,” he said, keeping an arm around Matt’s waist as he pulled away. He escorted Matt into the bedroom, lowering Matt carefully onto the bed like the fragile superpowered crimefighter he was. “Shoes off...do you want to get changed? I have pajamas you can wear, but they’ll look like a circus tent on you…”

“Nah,” Matt slurred. His hand slipped off Foggy’s shoulder, down his arm, and squeezed his hand. “Goodnight Foggy.”

“Goodnight Matt,” Foggy replied. He sat on the bed until Matt fell asleep. Their hands were still joined when Matt’s breath evened out, his face smushed against the pillow. He was drooling a little. Foggy couldn’t help laughing a little at his friend, who looked at this point more like a tired puppy than the embodiment of evil. “Devil in you, my shapely Irish ass.”

(Their new equilibrium is different. There’s no getting Foggy’s innocence back, and maybe Matt hasn’t had his in a long time. But Foggy pays attention to the new signs now. He knows to look out for a Matt who’s not only beat up, but hurting inside. He knows to look for the hitch in Matt’s step, the tightness around his eyes, the flare of his nostrils. He knows when to force Matt to take a break, and when to let him loose.

Foggy knows when to remind Matt of his importance.

Sometimes, Matt even reminds him back.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all. Thanks for reading, everyone!


End file.
